Neighbors

There's a little girl who lives on our street who cracks me up. She's maybe six or seven.

Almost every night around 8:00, I see her outside. She races up and down our sidewalk on a little pink scooter. Her tangled, wavy blond hair streams out behind her as she whizzes past the house. Her outfit of choice for her nightly joyride is a Disney princess nightgown (with Belle and Cinderella's faces across the front) and a pair of high heels.

At first I thought the nightgown meant that mom let her put her PJ's on and then run around outside a bit more. But when D and I saw her on Sunday, it was a hot night. She must have been sweaty, playing as hard as she was. I thought, "Wow, Mom is nice, letting her get all sweaty and then putting her to bed." But then I noticed the high heels. And I realized: This is no bedtime outfit. This is her princess outfit. Who knows what she's daydreaming about as she zips by on that scooter.

I like that kid. I remember the days when a nightgown made me a princess. Or a hoodie towel made me a superhero.